


A Dream of Spring

by soulmate328



Category: Fevre Dream - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood Drinking, Don't mind about historical details, Explicit Sexual Content, Gay Sex, M/M, Sexual Tension, Thirteen years on Fevre Dream, i suck at them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:13:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25647850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulmate328/pseuds/soulmate328
Summary: York and Julian, the Pale King and the Dark King, and their thirteen years of rivalry on Fevre Dream.
Relationships: Damon Julian/Joshua York
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	A Dream of Spring

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [春晓的梦想](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25769089) by [soulmate328](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulmate328/pseuds/soulmate328). 



> I'm not a native English speaker, so the writing may not be so fluent or beautiful. Feel free to point out any mistakes or give me any suggestions in the comment!

The days on Fevre Dream were far less luxurious than before. None complained; no child of the night in this group has not suffered from poverty or exile, and now they have comfortable rooms, a shelter to shield them from the sun, food brought by Sour Billy Tipton, lush woods to veil them from malicious gazes. Since conquering Joshua York for the second time, Damon Julian had been rarely seen, as if the triumph brought him no joy at all. Even so, his power and strength loomed over everyone, like the heavy grey clouds before a storm.

Joshua York himself, however, did not seem to be affected by Julian. He spent a few weeks to accept his second failure, and then plunged himself once more to endless work, as if his spirit and energy has no limit or boundary. After Valerie and Jean died, York became the youngest of all, even smaller than Cynthia. While Julian lay dormant in his cabin, York could always be seen cleaning the boat, setting up equipment to make more of his special vintage, reading, and discussing future plans with his followers, uncaring of the fact that Julian was the bloodmaster. He even started to learn cooking, preparing meals for them with materials brought back by Billy. He learned quickly, and in less than a year his meals could be considered delicious, though compared to the feast Old Toby prepared the night Julian first came aboard the boat, York still had much to learn. But, of course, he was no longer as confident and proud as the captain he once was. Nowadays he was always cautious, his face haunted by dismay and the sense of loss. But instead of drowning in failure, he used work to urge himself on.

York was fond of talking at the table as well. He did not distinguish Julian's men from his, attempting conversation no matter the other's attitude towards him. He asked all of them where they were born, how old were they, which countries had they traveled to, and in which places they had seen their own kind. He was especially interested in those who were much older than him, often consulting them on historical events, and was always thrilled to learn about the customs of the people of both night and day in ancient times.

Julian never participated in those conversations, yet all could sense his discontent, and their words were always tinged with nervousness. York sensed it as well, but he never let fear stop his mouth. Julian never stopped him, either.

One night, they were feasting upon food made by York himself - French cuisine, simple but fine - Armand was enthusiastically telling York about the Versaille under the reign of Louis XIV, how he preyed on pretty noble ladies on those fancy dinner parties, and Simon occasionally mumbled about the Habsburgs being beautiful to look upon but awful to taste. They started to talk about the history of France, and when they mentioned that the place was once a province of Rome, Kurt burst out, "Julian has seen Rome. He has seen Rome turn to dust."

The saloon was hushed in an instant. Only mentioning the name soured nearly everyone's mood. Kurt had meant to show off Julian's long life and strength, and express his scorn to short-lived cattle civilizations, but the smile Julian gave him was neither pleased nor satisfied, "Yes, Kurt."

They remained silent for a few embarrassing seconds, Kurt at a loss under Julian's cold gaze. Then York suddenly said, "Tell us about Rome, Damon."

Cynthia drew a small breath, Simon stared at Julian uneasily, and Raymond cast a warning glance at York. But York didn't stop, "What was Rome like? Was Octavian truly as handsome as Suetonius described? How did you live back then? Which of our people followed you, were they many? Do you still remember how to speak Latin, or Greek?"

Julian stared at York, unmoving, as if he couldn't comprehend his words. York stared back, not the challenging stare, only waiting quietly for his answer.

Julian put down his wares, and silently returned to his cabin.

Michelle urged York not to provoke Julian again, or they might suffer from unknown horrible consequences. But York was somehow switched on, and started asking Julian different questions every night. From the Viking reapers, Roman Emperors and Novgorod-the-Great, to Kings and Lords in the Middle Ages, Arabic Sultans, Russian Tsars, what those ancient countries and cities were like, and how the people of the night survived in different civilizations. He even asked Julian about those nations in the far east, whether he had lived in those places as well. York asked about America, too, about how Julian and his people survived the Witchcraft Hysteria, and were there many of them who died in the Revolution.

Julian never answered those questions, and York's insistence displeased him. Whenever he heard York questioning, those dark eyes would flicker like burning coal.

When this lasted for about a month, Sour Billy brought a new prey for Julian. The Civil War had not started then, and Billy sold some silver on the boat to purchase a pretty quadroon girl. Frightened by the gloomy ruin of a boat, she wept and wept and never stopped. Julian summoned all of them to the hall for the feast, while York and his people stood watching at the side with cold eyes.

"How beautiful she is, Joshua," Julian's slender fingers caressed her cheek. "Don't you wish to have a taste of her?"

Julian's voice was soft and rich, but the girl wasn't comforted at all. This was no longer the decent house in the plantation, and the girl had realized that she didn't simply change a master, but was to welcome a fate far more bitter. She collapsed to the ground and cried. Sour Billy whipped her and told her to be silent, but it was of no use. Some of them were annoyed by the crying, some unable to bear the sight, and turned away, and Julian seemed dissatisfied as well. But York approached, supported her up and touched her hair.

"I'm so sorry, child. I'm so sorry," he said sadly. "What is your name?"

The girl managed to bite back her tears and said, "Anna."

"Anna, it's alright. Everything will be fine."

York led Anna to the corner of the hall, sat down on the stairs, opened a wooden box, and took out a guitar. No one knew when that box was there, or when did York learned to play guitar, but York plucked the strings, and started to sing a Russian folk song.

All of them were astonished. York's voice was deep and elegant, as if it could roll inside one's ears. The melody was sad and dreary, waking the memories of northern winds in the blood of the people of the night. His voice was like the desolate plains in Siberia, like pines and rocks burdened with snow, but with tranquility in it, too. The slave girl had stopped weeping, and was simply gazing, entranced, at the pale man bathed in dim light.

"Billy," Julian called, his voice soft, but the cold seethed into one's bones.

No further instructions were needed. Billy grabbed the girl by her arm, and cut open her wrist with a knife. The girl cried out and reached for York, but Julian took hold of her slender hand and bent down to drink. York's voice stumbled, his gray eyes full of guilt, fear, and fury, but he continued singing, never taking his eyes off the girl's. Julian supported the girl, and let Raymond and Kurt and all his other followers taste the girl's blood in turn. Simon stood beside York, singing with him in chorus with his husky voice, then Cynthia and Michelle added theirs, pure and light. York sang again and again, and when the girl lost conscience he turned his gaze to Julian, watching him until her blood ran dry.

The girl fell on the ground with a heavy thump. York pressed his fingers to the strings, his voice abruptly stopped.

"Joshua." Moonlight shone through the windows, as sweet as Julian's voice. "That thing in your hand. Give it to me."

York felt the corner of his eye jumped, but he didn't resist, handing the guitar over to Julian. Julian went to the fireplace and tossed it into the flames.

"It seems that our pale king does know magic," Julian smiled with disdain in his eyes. "Sing a song in some unskilled Slavic, and the cattle became fearless."

"It is Russian, only a branch of Slavic Language," said York. "The original Slavic is called Old Slavic Language now, Damon."

Julian's smile disappeared bit by bit. York's eyes shifted from the burning guitar and the girl's body, shedding tears of grief and sorrow. Seeing this, the smile returned to Julian's exquisite face, and he reached out a finger to catch a drop of tear. "Beautiful Joshua. Are you grieving for the cattle, or your wooden trinket? Neither seemed worthy."

"For my guitar, of course," York raised his head, his tears still drying on his cheeks, yet his eyes glowed with a fiery light. "For you and your victim, there is only rage."

He challenged Julian once more, gray eyes clashing with dark ones, shapeless power warring in the air. Julian stood still like a statue, while York trembled and struggled, losing yet again at last. Julian handed him a knife and held a glass before him. York cut open his wrist and filled the glass to the brim with his own blood. Julian rolled it as if tasting a fine vintage, and drained it in one gulp.

"Who is bloodmaster, Joshua?"

"You, Damon," York answered, his head bowed low.

"Good," Julian smiled in satisfaction, and left.

For days Julian forced York into submission and took his blood, and for days York challenged him and failed. His face grew even paler, his light blond hair losing its gleam, becoming a bone-like white in the moonlight. He was so weak that he lost appetite for any food, and the strength to start long conversations on the table was gone from him, too. He stopped all his work in order to recover from his loss of blood, roaming on the Fevre Dream night after night, touching every inch of her timber and silver, and reading newspapers when he grew weary.

"I wish," the seventh day after that, York looked at his food indifferently at the table, and suddenly said, "to bring some people of the day here."

Everyone stared at him with wide eyes, doubting their ears. "Are you mad, York?!" Raymond growled to him deeply.

"I want to repair the Fevre Dream," York kept saying, his eyes hollow and his voice hoarse. "This boat belongs to me and Captain Marsh. One day we will pilot her together, and race the Eclipse on the Mississippi."

Julian sipped his wine, "No."

"I know, it's impossible now," York squeezed out a bitter smile. "The Eclipse is no more."

"Poor Joshua, brooding for a cattle," Julian shook his head. "You're still so young, Joshua. One day you will understand that their lives mean nothing to us. Everything they create will vanish in the blink of an eye, while we go on for all eternity."

"The short-lived people of the day are all over the world, prospering in their own cities, while the eternal we could be counted with two hands, eating their leftover food," York straightened his back. "Are you truly blind to this, Damon?"

"Joshua, you long to become one of them too much. We are not cattle."

"Being different from them doesn't mean we have to live like beasts," York sat back in his chair once more. "I wish to see Captain Marsh. Just see him. A war is coming, and I fear for him."

"No one leaves without my permission," said Julian.

York stood, and bowed slightly to Julian. "May I be dismissed?"

Julian looked at the pale blond head, and said moments later, "Permitted."

When the war broke out, more of their members perished. The plantation that had some use before was now completely abandoned, and all of them moved to the boat. York took back all the bodies, dissected them, and recorded his discoveries. Cara, who died from a bullet through the head, had the most intact body, but York spent the most time on those of Phillip and Alain. Not only because they were male and he had never dissected the males of their kind, but also because they had died from the sun. York peeled off their burnt skin, observing and experimenting, hoping to find the cause of their fear for sunlight.

Julian had no grief for their passing. Sometimes he was only informed days after their deaths. But on the second night of York's dissecting, Julian suddenly showed up at the door of his temporary lab. Billy must have told him of my work, York thought to himself.

"What are you doing, Joshua," Julian asked, his eyes only roughly scanning through the twisted bodies.

"Dissecting. I wish to gain more knowledge of our bodies," York admitted frankly. "Like I once said, I hope to conquer the sun someday."

"Joshua, Joshua," Julian put a hand on his shoulder, as if laughing at the naivety of a child. "When can you stop fearing? Those cattle could be easily manipulated for our use. They, as a base and weak race, always long for eternity and power, no matter in which era. Look at Billy. Whatever could we do without him?"

"Only you had survived, Damon. All these years, how many rounds have your followers changed? Countless of our kind were killed, driven under the sun to burn, but you care for nothing. You only care about yourself. I've had enough of your arrogance, Damon!" The more York spoke, the more furious he became. "The people of the day can light up the night with flames, but we cannot cover the sun with black cloth. If we could hardly survive half of the time in a day, we could never fend for ourselves properly, not to mention build our own city. If you wish to stay a parasite forever, then do as you wish, Damon!"

In an instant York had lost both his breath and his balance. Julian's fingers gripped his neck like bars of steel, pushing him to the wall with power unimaginable by York. He was sure he heard the wall cracking behind his back, and the sound of bones breaking inside his body. Oxygen is abundant in their blood, so suffocating wasn't that much of a problem, but Julian had such strength, that York feared that his head would be ripped off.

After a long moment, those fingers released him, and instead pricked open his collar with sharp nails. Julian put a hand on the back of his head and leaned in to place his bite on York's throat, so slow and elegant as if he was drawing a lover into a sensual kiss. York breathed deeply, his head dizzy from losing blood, holding unknowingly onto Julian's shoulders, like a gentle embrace.

When York started to think he would faint, Julian's fangs released him, those eyes of pitch-black gazing directly into his own. Threads of moonlight spilled into the room, gilding a layer of silver onto Julian's fine dark curls. His face was more beautiful and melancholy than Michelangelo's statues, like the haughty heroes in Byron's poetry. His eyes were glittering flint, his jaw proud and razor-sharp, the corner of his lips red with York's blood.

"Who is bloodmaster, Joshua?"

"You, Damon," Joshua replied, but this time it was out of fascination instead of fear. Those gray eyes that stared at Julian weren't full of shame, but were filled with desire and lust. He was so bewitched by the elder's beauty that he could not turn away his gaze. He saw that Julian, sensing his desire, parted his lips slightly in surprise; a drop of red traced down from the corner of his mouth, and his breaths blowing onto York's face smelled sweet with blood. York wanted to capture those lips, to taste his own blood inside Julian's mouth, to feel those enticing curves of that body wrapped in the suit, and hear the uncontrollable moans from the bloodmaster that was thousands of years old. They remained in their former position, gazing at each other without challenging, and let the tension between them grew.

York leaned closer and closer, as if he wanted to kiss away the blood on Julian's lips. Julian did not retreat; he simply stood there, with a blank expression on his face. He must have never encountered such a thing, thought York. He wanted submission, but instead, he got desire.

He could almost touch Julian's lips, when the face of his dying maid suddenly flashed across his mind, and with it came the desperate resistance of the couple he killed. Disdain and guilt rose within him, and York realized that the sight of blood had drawn out his red thirst. The desire in his eyes vanished completely, York pushed Julian away, stumbled to his table, and took a long gulp of the special vintage he prepared.

He only turned to face Julian again when he felt that he had calmed down, his head bowing submissively. "I have offended you, Damon. I apologize."

Julian's eyes were as cold as obsidian. He left York's lab in long strides, without saying a word.

During the war York stayed inside, while Julian, as if stirring from a dream, led his followers to feast in nearby towns several times. Whenever he returned from hunting, Julian often found York reading or playing the piano in the hall. The romantic, indignant Beethoven was his favorite. Sometimes Julian would stop and listen, or simply walk passed his side, his coat brushing York's elbow like a dark breeze.

Four years were a blink of an eye to them, the war ended, the steamboats replaced by railroads, the Fevre Dream continued to rot, and York became more depressed. He never mentioned Abner Marsh again, but every moment the ruined steamboat reminded him of the beauty and glory in the past, reminded him that it was Captain Marsh's absence that resulted in such desolation.

The victims brought by Billy never had the qualities before. Slaves were no more, he could only entice anyone he could entice to satisfy Julian's appetite, and Julian's mood had soured because of that. He anticipated the crisis of survival like a caged beast, his behaviors becoming more arbitrary and cruel. All of this brought more weight on York's shoulders, and his dream seemed more and more distant. Simon and Cynthia encouraged him, and he did his best to gather his strength, making his potions and going deeper into his researches.

Julian had stopped coming down to dine in the saloon, and soon the rest stopped eating together, scattering over on the boat. York was worried about this situation - the bloodmaster's indifference had caused disunity in the pack. He tried to make a change, so one night he drove back Raymond and Kurt with his eyes, and entered Julian's cabin.

Julian was sitting in a high chair, bathed in blackness, and holding a glass of brandy. He turned his head slightly in York's direction. "Yes, Joshua?"

York went to one knee in front of him, his white suit gleaming in the dark cabin. "Come out and meet the people, Damon. They are uncertain and afraid."

"Do they not know that I am here?"

"They do. They also know that it matters nothing to you even if they die. This is not right, Damon." York hesitated for a moment before taking hold of Julian's hand. "You are bloodmaster. You should protect your people."

"I am bloodmaster, Joshua," Julian removed his hand from his. "I can do as I wish. I am very fond of this cabin of yours, Joshua. It makes me comfortable, and doesn't wish to leave."

York stood, picked a book on the shelf and sat in the chair at Julian's opposite. "Then I shall stay here."

Displeasure flashed in Julian's eyes, he opened his mouth as if to order York to leave, but his attention was distracted by the book in York's hands. Julian tilted his head, his interest piqued.

"That book, I saw you read it often. Is it special to you?"

York remained speechless for seconds before he realized what happened. Julian had never asked him a question so private such as that.

"This is _Frankenstein, or, the Modern Prometheus_ ," he answered tentatively. "Written by the Madam Mary Shelley. She is my friend. Was."

"Ah," Julian drained the brandy and set down the glass. "It seems that your affiliation with the cattle has history, Joshua."

York looked down at the book in his hands, and didn't know how to reply. Julian's taunt sounded so hollow compared to what this book meant to him.

He came to know the Shelleys through Byron. On that famous night of ghost stories among great poets, York was present at the Diodati villa as well. They had plans for a vacation in the countryside, yet a thunderstorm locked them inside the house, leaving them with little to do. So they gathered in a circle, told each of their ghost stories, and compared whose was the scariest. York had made up a story with pieces of his childhood experience (which made it not entirely unlike Doctor Polidori's _The Vampyre_ ), but even that could not compare to the horror of Mary Shelley's story. Of course, the _Frankenstein_ that was told through her mouth that night wasn't entirely the same with the version that later appeared as the book (she made it even more horrible in order to win the competition), but it already left vivid impressions in York's heart.

York had read _Frankenstein_ before and after her death, over and over again. He loved the queer imaginations and advanced ideas, but was also saddened by the fate of those in the book who explored the unknown realms. After all, he himself was such a man that walked on paths unexplored. Whenever he read the book, he feared that he would become Captain Robert Walton, who was trapped in the northern ice and was forced to return without achieving anything meaningful; he feared that he would become Victor Frankenstein, who suffered the consequences of his bold actions and only regretted them when it was too late; most of all, he feared that he would become The Creature, who had given up entirely on his pursuit for happiness and harmony, and instead set to destroy all that is beautiful, much like the conflicted nature of the people of the night. The book inspired him, fascinated him, and terrified him. Every time he finished it he could not pick it up again in a long time, and instead sought comfort in Byron's romantic poems, but in time he would always return to _Frankenstein_ , and savor the words that were both elegant and horrific.

To some extent, perhaps the meaning of this book to him was like Damon Julian.

Julian didn't leave the cabin that night, but neither did he dismiss York. During that time Billy brought a whore to Julian; she wore heavy makeup, but she had none of the beauty Julian appreciated, so he tore out her throat without saying a word. The whore's struggle made York guilty, and the sight of Billy further annoyed him. Billy was a cannibal now, his mangled form being the strongest proof of Julian's human evil. York looked at Billy, and thought perhaps The Creature under Mary Shelley's pen was similar to this, only that he was larger, with the same twisted and sorrowful mind.

York kept coming to Julian's cabin for the next few days, hoping that he would show up in front of the crowd and bring the people together. Julian always refused, and York always stayed. Until one day he became desperate about Julian's indifference, accusing him of his arrogance and foolishness while showing signs of pity towards him. The pity angered Julian more than the accusations, and the bloodmaster ordered York to leave. York cursed him, looked him in the eye and challenged him instead.

He lost, again. But in his despair he went mad, and when Julian came to accept his blood from a kneeling York, he stood up all of a sudden and punched Julian in the jaw. Julian, not expecting him to still have spirit left, stumbled backward in surprise. York grabbed his collar and pushed him down onto the bed.

"You heartless beast," York bared his teeth in fury. "Who else in the world could be lazier than you? If you wish to live, live properly; if you wish to die, I would be more than happy to oblige! We all make our goddamned choices, Damon. You can sit in this ruin doing nothing, imagining that the thing under your buttocks is a throne, or you can accept the fact that we're going extinct. Wake up, Julian! Those old days of our dominance are gone, now we are dying out!"

Julian recovered from his shock, and subdued York with ease. His eyes were like the dark, bottomless abyss.

"What do you know of dominance, Joshua York? Do you think that the cattle have dominated the world, and left us with no choices? You are more like them than you think. Emperors, Kings, Presidents, all these titles were nothing but their mere imaginations. Noble or slave, their lives are weak and fragile; there's no difference in our eyes. Their borders and lands mean nothing to us, we go wherever we wish. Their death is as easy as their reproduction. They can be fooled and manipulated with ease. You have never manipulated any cattle, haven't you, Joshua? You know nothing of dominance. You're just a child that grew up among the cattle, longing to gain their approval."

"I have everything planned!" York rid himself from Julian with all his strength, and paced back and forth in the already decaying cabin. "When we've gathered enough people, we'll sail north, to the northern shores of Canada or Europe or Siberia, find a place at the beach with some ocean current passing by and build a city. We could keep distance between us and the people of the day, but still stay connected to them through ports. In those places, half of the year has more night than day, we could roam and work the lands freely, build our own culture...in winter there is rime in the forests, like white flowers on trees...and auroras! Do you know, Damon, that in certain times of the year, the sky there would be filled with lights of a thousand colors..."

"Ah, the prophecied Pale King, leading the people of the night to their promised land, dwelling forever in the city beside the sunless sea," Julian sneered. "But you are no Pale King. You are but a flop, too weak to be bloodmaster."

"No, Damon. I have defeated you once," York came in front of Julian in one huge step, his eyes firm. "One day I will defeat you again, and take back my people from your hands. One day, Damon!"

"Perhaps," Julian seized a handful of York's hair and tossed him onto the bed. "Now, you will submit."

It was an experience totally unexpected by York. He had never felt the human lust, and had thought that no such impulse exists except when males and females hunt together, but what Julian did to him was beyond his knowledge. Those slender fingers tore off his clothing and caressed certain places on his body, and York started to let out trembling breaths. In steaming desire, York thought of his dissection, those organs that correspond to where Julian's fingers were. They must be related to the reproduction instinct...Julian must have already learned everything about the functions of their body, thought York. Perhaps his researches were nothing but child's play in his eyes.

Julian's fingertips cut his wrist and pulled it to his mouth to drink his blood, during which their eyes never broke contact. "Who is bloodmaster, Joshua?" Julian asked when he had his fill of York's blood.

"You, Damon," York replied, but this time he kissed Julian's lips.

Determined to test his new knowledge, York touched those places on Julian's body, but discovered that there was no effect. Julian took his hand and guided it to other parts. "Remember, Joshua, everyone has their unique ones," he put York's hand on his hipbone, and shivered to the touch. "The rest you must find them yourself."

And so York explored every inch of Julian's skin, looking for the places that aroused him, from the Adam's Apple to the navel, from the shoulder blades to the back of his waist. Julian let out lewd moans in his ears, and when his member became hot and heavy as York's, he grabbed the hands that roamed his body and pinned them to the bed, breaching York's body in one smooth stroke.

There was no preparation, nor was any needed. The pain meant nothing to them, even aroused them more. Julian released York and supported himself on the bed, moving slowly and steadily. He clearly had much experience - there were rumors about Raymond being his son, after all - so Julian was patient and stable, while York had no such experience at all. He felt a fire burning within him, not the merciless fire of sunlight, but a wild and passionate one, melting his control. He wrapped around Julian tightly with his limbs, biting his own wrist to avoid making shameless sounds, helpless before the joy that swept all over his body. Those gray eyes had lost their normal intensity, and became as hazy as the Mississippi mists.

Julian took away his hand, and pressed his forehead to York's. "Call out, Joshua...let the others hear. Let them know that you're mine."

His pace quickened, pushing out more of York's sense, his body responding to Julian in search of pleasure. Julian could always hit the sweetest spot inside him with a forceful precision, sending currents of heat up in his spine, making him shake like an earthquake. He felt himself thoroughly opened, receiving Julian's invasion with the weakest insides. His body became a vessel for mixed euphoria and shame. York gazed up in amazement at Julian, who loomed over him like some dark beast, his fingers thrusting into those black curls, leaning up to share with him lavish kisses. Julian produced those moans that had only existed in York's imagination, and rubbed at him even faster with his hips. In between their kisses he was luring York still, "Call out, Joshua."

York remembered those profane screams he heard when he passed by the whorehouses in Natchez-under-the-hill, and decided he shall never make such sounds. But he had lost control, and the pleasure that stirred in his head urged him to call out his joy like a normal man in the grips of lust. So he moaned, incoherently.

_By that lip...I long to taste..._

_By that...zone-circled...waist..._

Julian's eyes seemed widened, and perhaps it was merely York's illusion, a faint blush appeared on his cheeks. York stroke that blush with his lips, squeezed his hipbones to make him shiver in lust.

_By all the...token-flowers...that tell..._

_What words...can never...speak so well..._

"Joshua..." Julian sighed, closing his eyes and increasing the speed of his thrusts. "Joshua...you're so beautiful..."

York sensed that his climax was near, his breaths becoming more and more frantic. He kissed Julian's hair, his ears and his jaw, and managed to finish the last two lines.

_By_...ah...! _love's alternate joy...and woe..._

_Ζωή μου, σᾶς ἀγαπῶ!_

"Oh, Damon...! I'm dying, I'm dying!"

"Shhh, Joshua, it's alright..." Julian comforted him gently, but his voice was tinged with a beast-like roughness, his brows furrowed in both joy and pain. "Yes, come, Joshua, come for me...you're so tight, so hot...I feel...I feel so good, Joshua. I want your blood, your seed...Oh, the thirst! It's been so long, so long, Joshua!"

The moment Julian's teeth sank into York's neck, they reached their climax at the same time. York repeated the last line over and over again, his strong arms clutching at Julian's back, releasing helplessly for the first time in his life. Julian's slender body trembled in his embrace, exulting in the sensation of carving a piece of his body into another one's insides. A long lost thirst beat in his stomach, and was slowly satiated with every swallow of York's blood.

Julian nearly drained York before he released him, making a sigh like the ones made after drinking iced beer in summer, and slowly pulled out of York's body. The process was torture for them both, their bodies still savoring the joy and yearning for their lover's touch, unwilling to be parted so soon. Every inch they move made them tense, as if begging for the other to stay. When they finally parted they both sighed in disappointment, but they did not nuzzle each other like lovers, instead, they simply hummed to express their displeasure, waiting for the tides of joy to recede.

"Damon, you..." York said when he recovered his sense. "The red thirst."

"Yes, Joshua. The red thirst," Julian kissed his broad shoulders. "After all these years."

All these years. How many years exactly? "Tell me about Rome, Damon."

The silence lasted long, and just when York thought this time was as vain as all the others, Julian spoke.

"Gaius Octavius Augustus," Julian had a fleeting expression on his face. "He should've been born one of us."

York's mouth fell open in astonishment. This simple sentence changed everything. He must seize this opportunity, dig up some more information about Julian's past, Julian's heart. "Do you know him?"

"I tried to change him into one of us, like those foolish tales they told. I failed," Julian's voice turned stale and dead. "He grew old and grey, his beauty gone, and at last he became a piece of rotten meat, just like all the others of his kind."

York thought quickly. No, he could not trust him this easily. Julian was too cunning, he could be cheating him, like he cheated Sour Billy Tipton. He must think up a way to prove his words. An idea came to York's mind, and he organized the Latin he learned when reading the works of Issac Newton, and asked, "Was he truly as handsome as Suetonius described?"

"Those descriptions," Julian looked at him with empty eyes, as if ignorant of the fact that he had spoken the same language as the question. "Does not match one-tenth of his real person."

Of course, one line of Latin meant little, but York couldn't help but feel a little triumphant. If Julian spoke truly, then even if he had never considered the people of the day as his equal, he still must have had relationships other than usage with some of them. Julian and Octavian, were they friends, like York and Byron or Captain Marsh, or did Julian did the same thing to Octavian as what he did to York?

York wished to continue asking, but Julian turned away and closed his eyes, falling asleep, uncaring of the fact that York could seize the chance to kill him. York had this idea briefly in mind, but Julian's words kindled within him a thread of hope for this oldest member of his kind. He slept beside Julian, feeling the day in the outside world shrouding them in cozy warmth. When the sun set they rose, dressed in respective black and red or white and blue, and walked down the spiral stairs side by side, shocking off everyone's jaw.

Julian stopped his dormancy in the cabin and started to meet the people in the hall. They never dined together again, but they would sit around the fireplace, drinking sherry or coffee, nibbling on simple snacks while they chat. Sometimes York talked with them about life in the past, sometimes about current events - the world after the war could change in mere seconds, and they were forced to become more cautious. With the situation settling down, they also longed to end their life of hiding in the ruins of a boat and move to dwell in other places. Of course, they never dared to make any plans, but as Julian reemerged they could lay the matter at his feet, hoping that he would take action. Julian seemed uninterested in all offers, but York knew he wished to leave as well. The quality of preys Billy offered him became lower and lower, and this made him think about the next step, about how to survive.

On York's part, he wanted to ask Julian where they could find other members of their kind, and journey to those places at once. He had not given up his dream, and York had learned much from this group, eager to see more of their kind and learn about their histories and customs. He thought about Captain Marsh more frequently, about the promises he made when they first came aboard the Fevre Dream, and York had meant it when he said he wished to accomplish great deeds with him. York assumed that Captain Marsh was in his fifties when they first met, now he must be over sixty, and it wasn't an exaggeration to say he was near his death. York turned melancholy whenever this came to his mind; he had not the chance to revealed his true identity after Byron died, not to mention become close friends with them. He had the fortune to meet Abner Marsh, but his fortune was only enough for them to work together for a few months. This sadness only made him more determined on his decision to leave. He must at least see Captain Marsh before he died, if he was still alive.

York didn't have the chance to be alone with Julian again. That night became a dream to him, leaving him uncertain on how to think, how to explain. He chose to move on, to continue his life and his plans, throwing Damon Julian and Gaius Octavius Augustus behind his head.

At last, his hope for life enabled him to achieve what others had given up in depression. He had a child with Cynthia, and was preparing to build a family. For the first time after York came into this group, he felt that he was not a child himself anymore. This did not escape Julian's ears, and he congratulated York with a smile that seemed fake even to Julian's own standards. York wasn't planning to let Cynthia face certain death; he had broken a curse of his kind, he didn't mind breaking another. But even without thinking, York knew that Julian would never allow them to look for a human doctor to help with the birth, so York started planning in secret with Simon about escaping, and by day he discussed their future plans with Cynthia in their room, even if they knew that as long as Julian was bloodmaster, there was nowhere they could go.

In Billy's rattling, news about the race between Natchez and Mad Bob Lee came at last. The stories of steamboats seemed to awaken Julian's violence when he slaughtered the people on Fevre Dream; he toyed with the idea of floating the boat again, catch up with the two boats and repeat his monstrosity on them. Upon hearing Julian's decision, York flew into a rage and challenged him yet again, and in his madness he lasted nearly five minutes before he failed, almost repeating the miracle thirteen years ago. Billy explained to Julian about the impossible condition of the boat, and Julian relinquished his plan, but York's despair did not reduce one bit. He realized that any hope he had for Julian was a mistake, that Julian was always deep in the swamp of madness, and even without the steamboats he would someday slaughter again driven by that madness. When the day comes, not only the unlucky people of the day would suffer, but all the people of the night that follow Julian as well. They would be discovered through the spread of rumors, tracked down and murdered, and even if Julian could survive in the end, and York could ensure the safety of his family and himself, his child would grow up under the shadow of Julian, enslaved by him in body and mind. Joshua York will not allow such a thing to take place.

Two weeks later, York came to Julian's cabin and sat down at his opposite, just like those days when he stubbornly stayed in the room to ask Julian to come out and meet the group.

"There are too many stairs in the steamboat, and the space is hardly wide enough," said York. "This place is unfit for a pregnant woman to live in. I'm wondering whether Cynthia can go down and live in the plantation? That place is still mostly whole, and plenty of rooms are available as well."

"It seems that you are prepared to be a father, Joshua," Julian smiled. "Permitted. But I fear for Cynthia's safety, Joshua, she is so small. I will have Raymond accompany her, too. You won't mind, will you?"

York gritted his teeth inside his mind, but he replied, "Of course not."

To stand against Julian, he must first ensure the safety of those who followed him, especially Cynthia. He planned to have Cynthia live in the plantation first, and find a chance to have Simon and Michelle escape with her together. Julian had clearly sensed his purpose, therefore he sent Raymond to spy on them. But York believed there would be a solution. Simon is strong, and so is himself, even Raymond and Kurt combined wouldn't stand a chance. If fortunate enough, he might even persuade more people to help him.

"They say Raymond is your son, Damon."

"So they say," Julian said flatly.

"He seems like your son," York poured himself some rum. "But you don't seem like his father."

Julian laughed, his laughter as melodious as music. "Why should I seem like his father, Joshua?"

"You're older than anyone. No matter he's your son or not, you must have children, or had," York sipped at his rum. "I need experience, Damon. I remember faintly the time I spent with my father, but he died when I was very young. Tell me, Damon, tell me everything you know about raising a child. If you can."

York had no intention to learn from Julian on how to raise a child, but he must make Julian let down his guard for Cynthia's safety, and this half-aggressive type of conversation had been common between them over the years.

Speaking of children, York couldn't help but remember the infant Julian put in front of him when he first came aboard the Fevre Dream. He wanted to rage, but he knew it was meaningless - Julian cared nothing for the infant, nor did he care for the passengers he killed, nor anything else. For millennias he followed the instinct of survival, changing countless names and countless masks. The very first Damon Julian was nothing but a beast running and preying in the far north of this planet, when mankind hadn't even fully evolved. It was a simple and easy time, and he needed not care for anything except for food and sunlight, but as humans grew powerful, everything became a thousand times more complicated. The beast put on human masks to survive, but was drained of energy instead, until he only lived by the ancient instinct of life.

York remembered his first clash with Julian on Fevre Dream, remembered his fear, his disappointment to the crushing failure. Now he only felt sad. Just like Julian said, he resembled humans too much. When a human is locked up with a beast, the human stood not a chance; but the human's death will not change the fact that the beast was still locked. The heart-wrenching clash was as simple as that. What type of behavior could be counted as the people of the night, and what counts as the people of the day?

"I had Raymond in Byzantium," Julian suddenly said, startling York. "When the crusaders invaded. I hunt often with his mother, attacking the camps. Soon she was pregnant. When Raymond awakened his thirst, he killed a dozen cattle every time. His appetite was insatiable, and he caused too much trouble. So I starved him, chained him under the sun, and finally I crushed him, forced him to offer his blood on his knees. From that time on I was not his father, only his bloodmaster."

"Byzantium?" York frowned. Simon had told of the peaceful centuries they lived there, but the place had abandoned that name long before the Fourth Crusade. "You mean Constantinople. The Turks call her Istanbul."

"It's the same," said Julian.

No, it's not, thought York. You miscounted for nearly a thousand years.

"So, what is your advice?"

"Advice? You are so much like the cattle, Joshua, you could right that wrong on your child. Tell your child to be truly like one of us, live our lives and obey our rules," Julian smiled. "Rest assured, Joshua. I will be watching over as the child grows."

No, you will not. "I understand," York stood up. "Dawn is near, Damon. I must go."

The night after a month, York transferred all his followers to the nearby town through a secret passage in the plantation. Raymond discovered them, but York lopped off his head with a scythe during the fight. And so, the child Julian had in Byzantium - Constantinople, or Istanbul - died.

York washed off all traces of fight, and returned to the boat. The transfer was initiated under the simple excuse of visiting Cynthia at the plantation, and no one but York's people knew of the matter. He must pretend to have returned from the plantation without any special situation, wait until the sun rises, and then escape on Billy's horse while everyone's asleep. Escape to find his Captain Marsh, and bring more people here to end Julian's reign.

Blood could be washed off, clothes could be changed, but his body could not lie. The fight still filled him with fury and despair, and images of Raymond's body kept flashing across his mind. He thought of Julian's words, of how he treated Raymond, his own son, and was reminded of his own child. I will not treat my child in the way you treated yours, thought York. Nor will I let you treat my child that way.

Julian summoned him. York came into the cabin and saw him standing beside the window, dressed in a dark burgundy suit, with a loose-collared silk shirt all ruffled down the front. Fastened on his black vest was a headlight, a polished chunk of black diamond in a soft web of yellow gold. On one finger he wore a gold ring with a sapphire the size of a sugar cube. It was the outfit Julian wore when he first came aboard the Fevre Dream and met with York. Upon hearing his footsteps, Julian turned and smiled at him. A hollow and empty smile.

"You're back, Joshua."

"Yes, Damon. What business do you have with me?"

Julian took a few steps closer. "I'm thirsty, Joshua. Billy has not returned."

"You don't have the red thirst. You've told me."

Julian looked at him, with eyes - York felt like it was his illusion - full of pain and exhaustion.

"Come, Joshua. Come to me," even his voice sounded breathless, almost like pleading.

York went to him, and Julian tore open his shirt to bare the place where his neck met his shoulder, and bit. York felt his eyes jumped. Julian rarely took his blood directly like this, but every time he did so - expect the few...special times - filled him with shame. I am not the people of the day, he always thought, and the thought had become stronger over these thirteen years. I am not Julian's food. It seemed that this child that grew up among the cattle still had some pride in being superior. Whether it's good or bad, York did not know.

Julian released him, but his head was still buried in York's neck, his breaths grew heavy and accompanied by small moans. When York touched his cheeks, his hand burned. "Damon, you...the thirst...wait, I'll go get my drink..."

"Don't!" Julian shouted, in a volume that York felt he'd never heard from him before. "Damn it, Joshua, I've nearly forgotten what it feels like. Just...just let me stay this way for a while."

York was a little lost. He carried Julian onto the bed, watching as the dark king breathed heavily with half-lidded eyes. York pushed those black curls behind his ear, and Julian pressed his face into his palm as if longing for his touch.

"Do you remember my last thirst, Joshua?" Julian asked. "Right here, in this room?"

"Of course." So it's not a dream.

"I was inside you," Julian grabbed his hand and nuzzled the wrist with his lips. "You recited poetry in my ears."

"Maid of Athens. One of Byron's most celebrated works."

"The last line, the one...it sounds like Greek. What does it mean?"

"Ζωή μου, σᾶς ἀγαπῶ. It means 'I love you, my life.'"

Julian stared at the ceiling into nothingness. "I almost didn't recognize it. It's so different from what I heard from the Athenians and the Spartans."

"Of course, Damon. Athens and Sparta are gone for nearly three thousand years, and languages do not remain the same." Not to mention the languages of the short-lived people of the day.

"Three thousand years?"

"Yes, Damon," York felt a sting in his heart. "Almost three thousand years."

Julian pursed his lips, spreading his arms slightly towards York. "Come, Joshua. Hold me, as you held me that night."

York climbed into bed, settling Julian's head on his shoulder - he couldn't disobey, Julian was still bloodmaster after all. His red thirst was already receding, the momentary passion so weak in front of all his years. Feeling the body pressing tightly to him, York suddenly felt a strong wave of uncompromising desire.

"Why won't you come with me?" York murmured. "Why must you insist on this way of life? I know it, you don't care about dominance, nor are you interested in plantations and steamboats. You're so tired, Damon, I can give you peace. No more exile, no more hiding, no more preying on the people of the day, no more reliance on them to survive."

"Do you think none of us had ever thought as you do? Become the prophecied king, and lead us back to our city?" Julian sneered. "I've set foot on every corner of this world, even those lands in the far north and south, and those underwater. There was no such city, or if there was, it was gone long ago."

"It doesn't matter. If there is none, we build a new one," York kissed lightly on his bloodied lips. "You, Damon, the most beautiful among us, the one who had witnessed all. You know everything, you can be the experience I lack. If you don't want any contact with the people of the day, leave those matters to me. You won't have to worry about rumors, or fear the humans' prosecution. I will shower you with all my favors, and gather the most beautiful things at your feet."

"Do you mean to lock me up? All those lives full of beauty and possibilities, are you forbidding me to enjoy the pleasure of taking them away?"

"You've never gained any pleasure from it, Damon," York said sadly. "No matter how hard you pretend to be pleasant. And, forgive my honesty, you no longer know what's beautiful anymore."

"Oh, but I know. You are beautiful, Joshua," Julian's fingers caressed his jaw. "Without a doubt."

York seized his hand, "I will defeat you, Julian, one day! I will have you fall on your knees before me, and I will taste your blood, as you did to me so many times! I will lock you up in a cage - as a pretty beast deserve to be treated - and you will watch me achieve greatness. You will watch our people...no, my people prosper, and at last we will bathe under the sun, and exchange bottles with the people of the day, just like what you hate the most."

Julian laughed, "You will taste my blood?"

York came to himself. "No. But you will be mine, and mine alone, nonetheless."

When he finished, he kissed heavily on Julian's lips, just like what he did a few years before.

Though York was a little impatient, it was too much of a luxury to watch Julian's body emerge slowly from that suit, and thus the young son of the night calmed his heart. He let that burgundy coat slid down from Julian's shoulders like spilling wine, unfastening those buttons of black diamond one by one, and bared the pale collarbones, the waist and stomach full of strength. York remembered Julian's sensitive places and bent down to plant kisses on his navel, making the man beneath him shiver in delight. At last, York rid Julian's leg off those dark trousers, and the dark lord lay naked in bed like a fish waiting to be slaughtered.

"Why are you still wearing clothes?" Julian said softly, reaching out to pull off York's clothing. His fingers were long and clever, and soon York was as naked as he was. York released his supporting elbows to press himself tightly onto Julian's body, and Julian raised his chin and sighed. "Joshua..." His heels slid across York's calves. "You're so strong."

York said nothing. He simply touched him until both of them were ignited by lust, and entered him in one thrust. He could feel Julian's power, the strength that lay beneath every inch of skin and muscle, the eyes of glittering flint that could bring anyone to their knees. York knew how dangerous it was to put his own body inside such a creature, facing the threat of having his throat torn out, but he was excited as well, the desire to conquer burning deep inside. Perhaps back then when Captain Marsh was racing the Southerner, the excitement that drove him to rouse York from his sleep was similar in some way.

He thrust forcefully, and Julian moaned in pleasure, but something was still missing. York remembered how crushed he was every time Julian delivered his thrust, his body all but out of control, and Julian clearly isn't experiencing that pleasure now. "Where is it?" York asked, moving his hips and looking for the spot that would send Julian directly into heavens. "Tell me, Damon."

"A little lower," Julian replied hoarsely.

York changed his angle as he was told, and quickly after a deep thrust, Julian threw back his head and hissed. York kept slamming into that spot, feeling Julian's body gripping him tightly, beating around his member like heartbeats.

"Joshua, Joshua," Julian embraced his neck, calling. "Slowly...please..."

York didn't listen, for he felt that Julian was speaking against his will; he said 'slowly' while in fact, he meant 'faster.' So York followed his instinct and increased his speed, and heard Julian called out in pleasure instead of pain as he expected. He kissed Julian's lips passionately, petting those soft black curls, nibbling at the rolling Adam's Apple as if drinking in his beauty.

"Oh, oh, Joshua!" Julian was suppressing his voice with all his will, suppressing his body trying to respond to York's moves. "I...I can't..."

"It's alright," York whispered. Then he suddenly spun Julian around and entered him from the back.

Julian tensed, his breaths stopping. York felt as if he had awakened from that half-mad state, and wanting to return to his character as bloodmaster again. He embraced Julian's waist before he could resist, thrusting into the weak spot and making Julian's limbs tremble. "Don't make me stop, Damon," he said in Julian's ear. "You told me not to go. Let me have you, Damon, just this time. I will make it good, I promise."

Julian breathed deeply and dangerously, but eventually he nodded.

With permission, York continued to fuck him steadily, releasing his desire from dreams and imaginations. Julian welcomed him with trembling lust, making sounds of mixed strange languages, or it could simply be the howls made by beasts in heat, York wasn't sure. He wanted nothing but repeat the night they had years ago, forget the hate at the moment to reach the climax as one. York bent down, and recited into Julian's dark hair.

_Maid of Athens! I am gone_

_Think of me, sweet! when alone;_

A strand of black hair slipped down, revealing Julian's blushing earlobes. York took it in his mouth and grounded it between his teeth. Their breaths and sighs melted into one, their limbs entangled, their hair of dark and white entwined, like the picture of Taichi in eastern realms, like day and night joined in lust.

_Though I fly to Istambol_

_Athens holds my heart and soul;_

Julian's neck bent backward like that of a black swan, the pace of his breaths already frantic. He called "I love you, I love you," in English, French, Old English, German, Slavic, Ancient Greek, Latin, Hebrew, and those old and primitive languages that were long lost and forgotten in time. York held him, held this combination of the worst fate his kind could ever meet, as if wanting to press him into his body, and carry all his darkness and fear within himself for the rest of his days.

_Can I cease to love thee? No!_

_Ζωή μου, σᾶς ἀγαπῶ!_

The last line flung them into climax at the same time. When the tides of joy receded, they nuzzled at each other like lovers, falling asleep in the sweet embrace of silk and words of love.

When the day came, York went without a farewell, and rode to his Captain Abner Marsh. To his future, his dream, his sunless city on northern shores yet to be.

The sun burnt away his skin touched by Damon Julian.

He dreamt of a city without day. Waves of dark blue lapped at the shore, and a steamboat of white and blue and silver rested in the harbor. On the hill was a castle built from ice and crystal, and beneath the hill was a city calm and beautiful. He could hear, faintly, that Gaius Octavius Augustus was delivering a speech in front of the crowd on a stage, like a shining star.

Joshua led him into the woods in the outskirts, patting branches covered in white rime, dancing to the music of streams. They made love in the snow, and together they watched the aurora in the nighttime sky, cuddled in each other's embrace.

"I love you," Joshua told him with a warm smile. All of a sudden a warm breeze kissed his face, the rime melted and the sun rose, but he felt no pain. Flowers bloomed, everything grew, and spring had come.

He woke, and discovered that he didn't remember the dream at all.

There were riots taking place outside.

Damon Julian opened his door. He saw Abner Marsh with his shotgun, Joshua York with his gray eyes. He saw his fate.

He accepted it with open arms, so the beast inside abandoned him, and took over the body once more.

"I shall die. I shall no longer feel the agonies which now consume me or be the prey of feelings unsatisfied, yet unquenched. He is dead who called me into being; and when I shall be no more, the very remembrance of us both will speedily vanish. I shall no longer see the sun or stars or feel the winds play on my cheeks. Light, feeling and sense will pass away; and in this condition must I find happiness. Some years ago, when the images which this world affords first opened upon me, when I felt the cheering warmth of summer and heard the rustling of the leaves and the warbling of the birds, and these were all to me, I should have wept to die; now it is my only consolation."

\-- _Frankenstein_ , by Mary Shelley


End file.
